Tapestry of Souls Book 1: The Hobbit
by Arlewena
Summary: The story begins with Marigold Baggins and her adventure. An ancient prophesy, secrets passed quietly through the Took line to those who have need to know them. Marigold is not the hobbit she once was but can she find her again with the help of a band of 13 dwarves and a wizard, none of whom know who she really is?


**Author's Note: I couldn't help myself... really. It was the Hobbit! So I started writing what will probably in all honesty turn into an absolute monstrosity. I apologize in advance for the unreasonable amount of time that will be present between updates.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing... except the prophesy... that is all mine.**

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**Prologue-**

**The Old Took Prophesy:**

_**At the turning of the tide shall the curse be shattered**_

_**The two that seem one known to themselves as the three**_

_**When both halves are accepted and loved**_

_**Shall the curse of death be broken**_

_**The twins of halves shall herald the time**_

_**For when she who is both sails shall the curse on the women truly break**_

_**For she has been cared for well and never betrayed**_

_**Though it is not to she he promises to share his life**_

_**But the one whom bears the twins of halves shall know great misery**_

_**Her love betrayed yet betrayal forgiven on the doors of death**_

_**But they shall break the curse of love, for none before **_

_**And none after should forgiveness fail**_

_**Love will have known**_

_**And the three who are six they shall walk the land**_

_**And break the spells**_

_**And the twins of their line**_

_**Shall to grief come no more**_

_**A blessing instead, they leave in their wake**_

_**As the dark and the light shall be the first who are safe,**_

_**And they shall lead their land to greatness in the turn of the age**_

_**And the land shall be renowned for they two**_

_**and their craft shall be sought by those they know not**_

_**The books of their ancestors they shall keep and **_

_**The tales will they spread**_

_**And bless all the lands in which they shall step**_

_**That they shall prosper for all the years **_

_**That they keep in good faith, the promises they gave**_

_**To ward against the dark, and those that may stray**_

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Marigold Baggins lights a match, using it to light a candle. She walks through a cluttered hallway in Bag-End carrying the candle.

She opens a chest, glancing with fascination and recollection at her sword, Sting in its sheath, and reaches out to touch it. At the last second she restrains herself and pulls out a large red book with a silver BB inscribed in the front, from the chest instead. Sitting down at the desk and opening the book, she sees a drawing of her younger self. She picks up the picture and gazes at it.

She dips her quill in a pot of ink and hovers poised to write over the page for a moment. Then she begins writing.

'My dear Jasmine,

You asked me once if I had told you everything there was to know about my adventures. And while I can honestly say I have told you the truth, I may not have told you all of it. I am old now, Jasmine. I'm not the same Hobbit I once was. I think it is time for you to know what really happened.'

She flips several pages in, leaving space for a short exposition.

'It began long ago in a land far away to the east, the like of which you will not find in the world today. There was the city of Dale. Its markets known far and wide, full of the bounties of vine and vale. Peaceful, and prosperous. For this city lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in Middle-Earth: Erebor. Stronghold of Thror, King Under the Mountain, mightiest of the dwarf lords.

Thror ruled with utter surety, never doubting his house would endure, for his line lay secure in the lives of his son and grandson. Erebor; built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of this fortress city was legend.

Its wealth lay in the earth, in precious gems hewed from rock, and in great seams of gold, running like rivers through stone. The skill of the dwarves was unequaled, fashioning objects of great beauty out of diamond, emerald, ruby, and sapphire. Ever they delved deeper, down into the dark. And that is where they found it. The heart of the mountain. The Arkenstone. Thror named it the King's Jewel. He took it as a sign, a sign that his right to rule was divine. All would pay homage to him, even the great Elvenking, Thranduil.

But the years of peace and plenty were not to last. Slowly, the days turned sour, and the watchful nights closed in. Thror's love of gold had grown too fierce. A sickness had begun to grow within him; it was a sickness of the mind. And where sickness thrives, bad things will follow.

The first they heard was a noise like a hurricane coming down from the north. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in a hot, dry wind. It was a fire drake from the north. Smaug had come.

Such wanton death was dealt that day, for this city of men was nothing to Smaug; his eye was set on another prize. For dragons covet gold, with a dark and fierce desire.

Erebor was lost, for a dragon will guard his plunder as long as he lives.

Thranduil would not risk the lives of his kin against the wrath of the dragon. No help came from the elves that day, or any day since.

Robbed of their homeland, the dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness, a once mighty people brought low.

The young dwarf prince took work where he could find it, laboring in the villages of men, but always he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright, for he had seen dragon fire in the sky, and his city turned to ash, and he never forgave, and he never forgot.

That is where I come in. For quite by chance, and the will of a Wizard, fate decided I would become part of this tale. It began, well, it began as you might expect. In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.'

At this point, Jasmine, eating an apple, walks out of Bag End and picks up the mail from the mailbox. She returns inside and gives the mail to Marigold. Marigold, who had been laughing to herself while writing in her book, quickly quiets down as Jasmine approaches.

"Thank-you," she says.

Jasmine picks up the discarded picture, "What's this?"

Marigold snatches back the picture, "That is private. Keep your sticky paws off. It's not ready yet."

"Not ready for what?"

"Reading," Marigold replies, shutting the book protectively.

Jasmine picks up and examines some of the old objects from the chest, which had been left open, as Marigold examines the pile of letters.

"What on earth are these?" Marigold questions.

"Replies to the party invitations."

"Oh! Good gracious! Is it that time already?"

"A mere week-and-a-half away. They all said they're coming. Except for the Sackville-Bagginses; they're demanding you ask them in person."

"Are they, indeed? Over my dead body."

"They'd probably find that quite agreeable! They seem to think you have tunnels overflowing with gold," Jasmine said, still rifling through the contents of the chest.

"It was one small chest, hardly overflowing. And it still smells of troll," Marigold says, as she starts hiding valuables in chests, jars, vases, and other inconspicuous places.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Taking precautions. You know, I caught her making off with the silverware once."

"Who?"

"Lobelia, Sackville-Baggins. She had all my spoons stuffed in her pockets. Hah! Dreadful woman; make sure you keep an eye on her when I'm gone." She looks at some papers on a table.

"You know, some people are beginning to wonder about you, Uncle. They think you're becoming odd."

"Odd? Hmm."

"Unsociable," Jasmine clarifies.

"Unsociable? Me? Nonsense. Be a good lad and put that on the gate," she says, handing Jasmine a sign she's made.

Jasmine looks at it dubiously for a moment, staring at the message: NO ADMITTANCE EXCEPT ON PARTY BUISNESS, before shaking her head and heading outside to nail the sign to the gate of Bag End.

Marigold joins her outside, stretching.

"You think he'll come?" Jasmine queries.

"Who?"

"Gandalf."

"Ahh. He wouldn't miss a chance to light up his whiz-poppers! He'll give us quite a show, you'll see."

"Alright then, I'm off." Jasmine says, a book held at her side.

"Off to where?"

"East Farthing Woods. I'm going to surprise him."

"Well, go on then! You don't want to be late," she calls as Jasmine runs off. "He doesn't approve of being late," she mutters, before sitting on a bench outside the door and lighting her pipe- blowing a large smoke ring which floated into the sky.

'In those days, I was always on time. The family curse had already run its course for me, and I was entirely respectable as a result of that and other events. And nothing unexpected ever happened.'

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**Please review and tell me what you think of the prologue! **


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